The Highwayman
by desidangerous
Summary: Picks up where the series left off. Trouble brews in the city when the King decides to raise taxes and the Musketeers find their hands full as they race to capture a notorious criminal before the new Captain of the Red Guard can get to him first. Meanwhile, Constance and d'Art cope with their break up, Aramis and Porthos have a bit of a contest and Athos faces a difficult choice.


Prologue

* * *

Monsieur Lafayette was tired and hungry and his arse hurt.

Three days sitting up on a hard, wooden carriage perch on the long journey back from Nemours to Paris would try the patience of even the venerated Saint Monica, of that he was certain.

It had been raining nonstop since they left the commune and the roads between Ris and Saviennes had been abandoned mid-repair while the peasants fulfilling their _corvee_ duties took cover from the elements. It was muddy, wet and cold—truly miserable spring-time weather to be travelling—but the Baroness Montplaisir had an urgent party to which to attend and since her simpering husband was never one to deny his cloying and obnoxious lady wife anything, Lafayette, despite his qualms about the possibility of the horses twisting a leg in the muck, was forced to endure the rain and the drudgery of a foggy old forest road from dawn until dusk.

Even Jacques and Colliers, his two outriders, had the luxury of being able to stop and take a proper piss. Sometimes the bastards would even ride ahead further than necessary and stop to rest, saddling up again only as soon as they heard the livery rattling up the road. Lafayette had half the mind to complain about it, but he knew better than to pick a fight with two brutes. Times were tough enough without tempting anyone into blackening his eye. It would probably only offend the mistress enough to dismiss him anyway, and Lafayette, belly-ache as he might, rather enjoyed being able to put food on the table for his family.

Still, it had been some time since those two dunderheads had rode back to check in and the party had yet to encounter any kind of king's patrol on the road. It would be nearing suppertime soon, although they'd have to press on until they hit Mennecey to bed down for the evening. Lafayette prayed to God the two idiots wouldn't be so stupid as to ride all the way ahead to the village without him. The Englishman had the wits of a goose, but Jacques, despite his taste for liquor, was a Frenchman and therefore could be trusted to have a bit more sense.

Usually. Lafayette hoped he wasn't wrong in his assessment.

The carriage continued for another two miles, its coachman cursing under his breath the whole way, until it eventually encountered the sight of the two riderless mares grazing on the side of the road. It was still foggy to see anything too clearly but Lafayette let out a sigh of relief, recognizing the animals as belonging to his men. So they _had_ stopped for a drink after all. Instead of badgering them about duty and formalities as he usually did, Lafayette decided that this time he'd simply ask for a pull of whiskey by way of apology and be done with it. The alcohol would warm him up just as well as any hearth or wench on his knee—at least until this evening.

But as the carriage drew nearer and a little more of the whiteness cleared, neither Jacques nor Colliers came riding out to greet him. Instead, they were sitting on the ground with their backs up against a tree, three onion bottles scattered 'round and one held loosely in Colliers' hand. It would appear that they had passed out in a drunken stupor.

Lafayette's blood boiled. He pulled the carriage to a full stop and called out to them:

"Oy! Get up you lazy, sodden oafs! Yer supposed to be watching the roads."

Neither of them moved. Didn't even look up and squint an eye.

Exploding an exasperated breath, Lafayette climbed down from the dickey and hobbled over, thankful, at least, for the opportunity to stretch. Maybe if the Baron or Baroness were watching this now, they'd see what he had to put up with and consider giving him a raise. He marched up to Jacques, who was nearest, and kicked him in the boot. But Jacques did not wake up. In response, the body slumped down away from the tree and dropped limply onto its side.

Lafayette took a hasty step back.

"Dear God," he whispered, his heart now picking up gallop in his chest in sudden realization. "They're dead."

"No." A pistol clicked next to his ear. "Just out cold. Poor sods have been riding all day. I figured they deserved a nap."

Lafayette whirled, staring down the tapered barrel of an elegantly gilded flintlock. On the other end stood a tall, cloaked man dressed in black from head to toe. Only the bottom half of his face was visible; the rest of it was obscured by the depths of an overly large and deep hood.

The coachman stuttered out a gasp. "Who are you?"

"A man in a mask," the bandit replied smoothly. "I have no quarrel with you, Monsieur. I suggest you leave me to my business, or I shall have to sing you a lullaby with my fist like I did for your friends there."

_A lone Highwayman. Dear God. _He probably saw the two drunken idiots on the road and seized the opportunity.

"Lafayette! _Lafayette_!" a petulant voice called from inside the carriage. It was Montplaisir, clearly roused from his afternoon nap when he realized they had ceased rolling along. "I thought I made it clear to you that we were not supposed to stop unless I instructed it and not a moment sooner. _What is going on_?"

Raising his palms in surrender, Lafayette dared not answer. He kept his eyes fixed fearfully on the masked man. Jacques and Colliers may have been fools, and the bandit may have spared them out of pity, but there was no guarantee the rogue wouldn't kill him if he'd do something to displease him.

The man in black tilted his head to one side and looked him over with some consideration.

"On second thought," the Highwayman said, "perhaps it is best if you lay down too."

Flipping the pistol around in his gloved hand, the bandit struck poor Lafayette in the back of the head. The old whip's knees crumpled and he was out before he hit the ground.

"You, there!" The curtains in the carriage window were shoved aside as a disgruntled little lord with an orange-peel face peered out of it angrily. "I demand to know, what is the meaning of this? State your business."

The man in black, who had just finished dragging the coachman back over to the tree with the other two unconscious men, stood and walked over to the coach, calmly dusting off his gloved hands.

"Wishing you a good afternoon, Your Lordship," he greeted, giving a polite little bow as he stopped before the carriage window. "I've only come to do my humble duty and collect what is due."

"Oh? And what would that be?" The lord continued to squint at him; the Highwayman realized that it was he was short-sighted.

He grinned.

"Why, the tax you owe, of course! Your office fetched a pretty coin last month or so I'm told. About 200 livres—that about amounts to about one-twentieth of the profits, wouldn't you say?"

"What in God's name is this man talking about" Madame Montplaisir raised her voice, the blue feather fan in her hand fluttering like the wing of a nervous bird. She had the same sour-looking face as her husband, though her nose was larger and covered in an overly generous layer of powder. "We owe no such amount. We don't pay taxes."

"That's because he's a robber, Eloise," Montplaisir replied, fixing the masked man with a baleful glare. "A robber and a _criminal_."

The Highwayman's grin widened.

"No, no, Monsieur. I'm a _financier_—just like you—though I can see where the confusion might lie." He brought his pistol up again and pointed at the Baron directly. "Now, if you'd be so kind."

Montplaisir blanched, pulling away from the window at the sight of the weapon. "You won't get a _sou_ out of me," he stuttered.

"No?" The Highwayman looked bemused. "Oh, well, so sorry to bother you then." He lowered his weapon and then turned as if he meant to leave. However, before either Montplaisir or his wife could breathe out their relief, he turned suddenly again, grasping a hold of the head irons and hoisted himself up into the carriage window. He threw an arm around the Baroness' shoulders and pulled her roughly against him.

"What do you value more, sir?" the bandit snarled, his nose pressed against the frightened woman's temple, his pistol now tucked under her chin. "Your purse or your wife?"

Madame Montplaisir let out a pathetic whimper.

Her husband's eyes went wide. He quickly hastened for his money-belt and did as he was bid. He tossed the pouch over at the Highwayman who caught it with a 'chink!'

"That doesn't sound like 200 livres," the bandit observed.

"That's all I have with me, I swear it," said Montplaisir.

"Wise man. You wouldn't want to take that kind of money travelling when there are so many _unsavoury_ types lurking about. Mind you, this does present us with the unique problem of collateral." He turned his head into the Baroness and his eyes dropped down to the collar of sapphires at her throat. "Madame, if you'd please."

The Baroness swallowed hard and reached around to remove her necklace with trembling fingers, handing it over to the Highwayman.

"Those too." He indicated the earrings.

Blinking away tears now, the Baroness all but yanked them off. The bandit smiled at her indulgently.

"Truly, they are small credit to your beauty, Madame," he purred, lightly tracing the curve of her cheek with a gloved knuckle. "Such _gaudy _things. They detract from the lovely jewels in your eyes."

The Baroness flushed crimson.

The Baron, never to be outdone by anyone, turned royal purple. "You got what you wanted, _sir_. Now release my wife."

"And just when we were getting to know each other," the bandit lamented with a sigh. "But yes, I suppose I should. Farewell, _mon petite trésor_." He gave the Baroness a soft kiss on the cheek and then bounced back away from the carriage before the the enraged woman could land a proper slap on him.

"Vandal!" she cried, her hands swiping after him kittenishly. "_Beast_!"

The Highwayman laughed and gave a gracious bow. "A pleasure doing business with you, your lord and ladyship. If I ever see you again, it will be too soon!"

Montplaisir who was struggling to hold his hysterical wife back. "If we ever catch you, it'll be the hangman's noose for you!" he shouted, teary eyed for having received an elbow to the face for his efforts.

"_If_," the man in black agreed, his smile like a white string of pearls.

He then swung up on top of his horse and turned to gallop away into the fog.

* * *

Just a little teaser. Any thoughts, comments or suggestions are always welcome (and appreciated). Next chapter, we see what the boys are up to :)


End file.
